


FIC: The art of falling (without breaking your neck)

by megyal



Category: Live Free or Die Hard (2007)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-02-21
Updated: 2009-02-21
Packaged: 2017-10-11 09:59:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/111174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megyal/pseuds/megyal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Written for both <a href="http://www.livejournal.com/users/maja_li/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://www.livejournal.com/users/maja_li/"><strong>maja_li</strong></a> & <a href="http://www.livejournal.com/users/vampyreranger/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://www.livejournal.com/users/vampyreranger/"><strong>vampyreranger</strong></a> for their Porn-for-Valentine's gift. I had been pondering Maja's prompt, and then Rachel requested <em>Matt riding John</em>, so I guess it worked out. Hopefully!</p></blockquote>





	FIC: The art of falling (without breaking your neck)

Matt was sort of high-strung, he knew that about himself. That was one of his biggest failings, he was quite aware of that, thanks a lot. But the thought of sex with _John_, that was enough to drive _anyone_ crazy with nerves and need.

*

Matt adjusted his black shirt nervously, plucking at the collar. It was a new shirt, and the saleswoman at the fancy store had assured him that, yes, he totally gave off the air of a solid, mature young man and no, he didn't look like a complete dork.

He gazed at himself critically as he stood in the front hall. Maybe he should have cut his hair; he plucked his glasses from his face, heading to the bathroom for his contacts, and then turned back. Okay; time to relax, Farrell. Breathe in. Breathe out. It was just another date with McClane, that was all. Maybe instead of the heavy-duty petting they'd been doing so far, they'd move on to something... _more_.

Matt felt his stomach clench at that. Anxiety assailed him; John was probably labouring under the impression that Matt had participated in, like, gay sex orgies before the Fire Sale had thrown them together.

"You kiss like a pro," he had observed once, giving Matt a small, contemplative smile as they reclined together on the sofa. "Been through a lot of guys, Farrell?"

Matt had shrugged demurely. Truth was, the amount of guys Matt had 'been through' amounted to... oh, if he thought about it and used both hands to count, exactly _one_ and that one was _John_. As a matter of fact, his whole sexual roster was kind of short; Matt hadn't been exactly popular with the ladies, either. His tendency to blather at length about World of Warcraft was apparently a huge turnoff to the girls he wanted to sleep with. He should have reset his standards, or something. He had been shocked to find out that John had actually fucked another dude not once, but two separate times and claimed that each occasion had been interesting.

A part of him had laughed hysterically at that. _Interesting_. Right. The look on John's face had been a little wistful and Matt was sure that when the time came for them to get into it, he'd be a total failure.

He'd spent an inordinate amount of time reading up on gay sex; even watched enough gay porn to be able to direct his own, one day. But Matt was the kind of person who tended to worry a _lot_, he knew that about himself, so all he could do was ride out the storm until John got here.

*

Matt tried to relax, but his whole body was tense; he was in the sofa with John, sitting close while John's arm was stretched out on the back of the seat. They were watching the Matrix, the first one, and John was frowning faintly at the screen as Trinity shot an agent in the head on the roof of some building.

"Wait a minute," John rumbled. "So the agent took over that guy's body, right?"

"Right," Matt said, trying to sound calm and cool. He glanced over at John, taking in the hard planes of his face.

"But the cop she shot. _He's_ the one that's dead, instead of that fucking digital agent, right? That's fucked up."

Matt made a sound that could be agreement or not, and John turned to look at him. "You alright, kid?"

"Oh, fine. Super, in fact. I'm Superman, that's how super I am."

John laughed incredulously at this particular bit of cheesy nonsense and Matt relaxed a little.

"What you just said made no sense," John informed him and leaned in a little. Matt met him halfway, a little too eagerly in his effort to be cool, and their teeth smashed together painfully.

"Owww," Matt said and clamped a hand over his mouth. "Ah fuck, that hurt."

John was wriggling his lips from side to side and even pressed a finger to one of his teeth, testing it. "I've been through worse," he said with a cryptic smile. "I think we should try again, but without the collision this time."

The second try was far better. Matt put his entire supposed expert kissing tactics to good use; but really, all he did was kiss John with everything he had. One of John's hands was heavy on his shoulder, before it slid down to flatten against his chest; Matt felt his heart thumping wildly against it. Then it went even further, resting on Matt's erection.

Matt moaned and clutched at him. This was the point where John would pull open the fly of his jeans (he was wearing khaki pants tonight, like a mature young man) and stroke his cock and Matt would come like some kid in high-school, drunk on John's touch and his smell and the rasp of his stubble against Matt's cheek. Then Matt would flail about and make awkward motions and John would raise his eyebrows and kiss him, getting himself off as he kissed Matt, who would feel relief and a strong sense of disappointment in himself.

Now, he gathered his courage in both hands (and wishing he had more hands with which to gather), Matt reached out and stroked the hard bulge of John's cock, feeling the warmth of it through the material of his trousers.

John growled in approval and pulled away, ducking down to lick and suck at Matt's neck. While he was doing that, Matt fumbled with his zipper and managed to pull it down; he slipped his hand inside and tugged down the waistband of John's boxers, finally getting to wrap his fingers around John's dick.

John groaned again, low in the back of his throat, and reached down to squeeze Matt's fingers, dragging them up and down slowly. His cock was thick and warm, skin soft and Matt's breath hitched in his throat from nerves and arousal. This was completely new for him and he pulled his face away from John's, because if he was going to commit a complete sexfail, then John was going to have to be informed of this.

"I'm a total virgin with this dude-sex thing," he blurted and John, caught in the middle of a moan, stopped short and blinked at him. "Yeah, I... okay, this dick in my hand? That's not _my_ dick? I've never done this before. And, and. You've done this before, you're like, a _professional_ at the sex with dudes and I'm just warning you that I'm not. Good at it, not good at the sex thing, because I haven't done it before. With girls, yeah... not with Lucy! God, no, with _other_ girls. So, I--"

John slid a hand over his mouth and stared at him for a very long time. His face was very close and Matt could see a faint scar over his left eyebrow, his gaze steady and serious.

"Twice, Matt." John's voice was soft. "_Twice_. Doesn't make me an expert. Confused me at the time, until I got into my own head a little more, but I'm not a professional. Okay?"

"Okay," Matt said, his voice muffled against John's palm. He could feel John's cock still in his own hand, not as hard as before, but not flaccid either. Oh man, he was fucking things up anyway; he wondered if he should move his hand.

"So you're no expert either," John continued, one side of his mouth lifting in that amused curl; he removed his hand, stroking down the side of Matt's neck. "I like that. Means that there hasn't been anyone before me."

Matt flushed at that and averted his eyes, gazing down between them. He gave an John's cock an experimental stroke and the responding groan was long and gratifying.

"Not that I don't want you to, um, fuck me," Matt muttered, kind of entranced at the way that John's cock, thick and flushed again in his hand, slipped back and forth in his light hold. "I do. I think about that a lot. I just think that I'll be super bad at it, I dunno."

"_Fuck_, Farrell," John said; the tone of his voice was so gritty and needy that Matt looked up, surprised. The pupils of John's eyes were blown wide. "You. Jesus," he finished and bent forward, kissing Matt hard.

Matt opened his mouth beneath the assault, feeling John's hands move restlessly over his shoulders, gripping his arms tightly. He was being pushed backwards to lie flat on the sofa and Matt went willingly, a little giddy at... at everything, both arms now slung tightly around John's neck. John pressed down on him, hips flush together and Matt writhed in response, their clothes rucking and twisting with their frantic thrusting.

"You'd be good at it. You _feel_ good," John rumbled in his ear and bit the lobe of it. Matt keened at the feel of his lips and was just about to tell John that he was going to come, but it hit him like a fucking _truck_, his hands clenched in the front of John's shirt.

John ground down into him again, still hard against Matt's sensitive cock and then buried his face in Matt's neck, grunting at his skin as he came.

*

Matt was arguing with some dickheads at work about compiler construction when he got an alert on his phone; John was sending him a message using their personal emails and not that of their offices.  


> From: JM &lt;jay_mac55@aol.com&gt;  
> To: maChew &lt;frrll_fsl@aim.com&gt;  
> Sent: Tue, 4 Mar 2008 1:58 pm  
> Subject: hey
> 
> Nice mouth. Don't know if you realize, but I like it.  
> 

 

Matt stared at the screen, ignoring the squawking of the other programmers. He stepped away from them and leaned against the wall, tapping out a quick reply, biting his lip.  


> From: maChew &lt;frrll_fsl@aim.com&gt;  
> To: JM &lt;jay_mac55@aol.com&gt;  
> Sent: Tue, 4 Mar 2008 2:00 pm  
> Subject: RE: hey
> 
> it can get way nicer, trust me.  
> 

 

Apparently, Matt was a subtle sensual siren on the _internet_. He went back to arguing, but in the back of his mind he was thinking about translating this digital confidence into real life. If he could be like that, sending back flirty responses, why couldn't he try it in person? Because he failed mightily, that's why.

John didn't reply to his email, but Matt didn't mind; John wasn't exactly the type to be hovering over his computer, waiting for a response. He was probably out on the streets by now, or rustling up some lunch. He had a tendency to eat late.

They didn't have any plans for this evening either, so after work, Matt marched firmly into a sex toys' shoppe, and was very proud of himself for not dicking out of buying an anal dildo and a confusing array of lube that the cashier pressed upon him.

Also, he was proud of himself for not snickering over the mental use of the phrase 'dicking out'. He should have ordered it online, he thought as he made his way to his apartment, but the idea had hit him just then and he found that he didn't have the time to wait. He'd take it home, play around with it, get used to the idea of a cock rocking inside him, and he'd be all fucking set... for _fucking_, right.

But because the world was _so_ not his friend, John was waiting inside Matt's apartment, reclined in the sofa and clicking the remote idly. His black jacket was slung over the arm of the chair, the letters _NYPD_ slightly cracked and stripped.

Matt paused in the threshold of his doorway, feeling as if he was hauling around some kind of contraband, and oh boy, there's a cop right there, what were the odds. John raised his head and gazed at him.

"Got that from Jesse's?" he asked, voice and body languid, but his eyes sharp on the bags clutched to Matt's chest. He was up and standing in front of Matt before he could drum up any reasonable excuse; John stuck a big hand into one of the discreet bags, saying, "Did you get the roast beef hero? I liked the musta--"

He pulled out the dildo and stared at it, stiffly resplendent in its plastic wrapping, while Matt was silently pleading with the floor to crack in two and swallow him whole.

"Hmm." John turned it over, eyebrows raised. It was purple, and 'life-sized', according to the sales dude. "Well. I don't think you can eat this."

"Not in the normal way, I guess," Matt quipped nervously.

"What were you planning on doing with this?" John was just staring at him, gaze steady and calm, until Matt licked his lips. Then something darkened in his eyes and he dropping the dildo back in the bag and took the whole lot from Matt's arms to place on the floor beside them. He then crowded Matt right against the door, placing one solid leg between his legs, pressing his thigh against Matt's crotch as he braced his arms on either side of Matt's head. Matt arched back, grabbing onto his hips as John bent to murmur in his ear.

"Were you gonna fuck yourself on it, Matt?" John asked, voice pitched to that soft level that either meant 'very bad' or 'very, _very_ good', and Matt nodded, clenching his eyes shut and feeling John's cock hard against his own thigh. Okay, so 'very good', then. Awesome. John rocked against him, almost experimentally, as if they were doing this for the first time and Matt gasped, opening his eyes quickly. John's expression was hawk-like, fixed on his face. Matt slid his hands up, flat against John's chest before wrapping them around John's neck, pulling him closer. "Were you, baby?"

"Yeah," Matt muttered, leaning forward to kiss him and hopefully hide his embarrassment, but John held his head away.

"For practice?" John bucked against him again, a slow rolling movement. Almost helplessly, Matt rocked back, fingers digging into the skin at the back of John's neck. John kissed him then, rough and frantic and pulled away with a groan, leaving Matt gasping for air. "Fuck," he groaned against Matt's hair. "Fuck, what are you _doing_?" he asked gruffly.

Matt said plaintively, "I don't know!" and John actually laughed a little as he came, shuddering hard. He was still gripping Matt as _he_ came, so tightly that when Matt finally regained his senses, he had to push weakly at the strong circle of John's arms, sliding down the wall to sit on the ground, inhaling deeply. He made a face at the stickiness in his boxers, which was mirrored on John's face as he hunkered down beside him.

"Matthew."

Matt turned his head, blinking at John's face. The amusement was still there, layered over a considering expression.

"Yeah?"

"You're trying to kill me, right?"

Matt gaped at him. "I don't think _anyone_ can kill you," he answered, quite truthfully and John laughed again.

He reached out and tugged at a limp lock of Matt's hair. "You're making a good go of it." He turned a little, looking over his shoulder at the sex-shoppe bag. He slanted his eyes back to Matt, gaze heated. "About _that_. You know what they say: practice makes perfect."

*

Practice makes perfect. Right, right.

Matt sat naked in his bed, inspecting his clean dildo very carefully. He bit his lip and set it aside, reaching for his lube as he lay back against his pillows.

He uncapped the bottle and poured some onto his fingertips and rubbed them together, pleasantly surprised at the consistently. It was a little thicker than he had expected; drawing up his knees, he reached down between his legs, petting nervously around his hole and then massaging with more confident strokes. He breathed out and imagined that John was doing this, touching him with unrelenting fingers, twisting one in very slowly. He was warm inside, warm and kind of... _spongy_.

"Oh," he breathed out as he tried out another finger, feeling a slight sting now, but not enough to stop. He was actually getting _hard_ from this, he found, and circled his other hand around his cock, giving it a few measured tugs.

He relaxed a little more, head lolling on the pillows as he began to leak precome; he was kind of amazed to find that he was writhing on his own fingers, enjoying himself even more; he managed to stroke against _something_ and jerked in surprise, hand tightening around his dick. After a moment, he tried to find it again, and with a few investigative thrusts, he reached the point where he couldn't decide if he should fuck into the circle of his hand or fuck down onto his fingers, hips bucking with indecision; then he found it _again_ and gasped, coming all over himself.

He hadn't even gotten to the dildo as yet, Matt realized in dismay and then made a wry face, wiping clumsily at his own stomach. Well, it was like John said: practice makes perfect.

*

"Hey," Matt said with feigned casualness as John pulled open the door to his quick tapping. "So, I practiced."

"Did you." John's tone was flat, but he raised an eyebrow in apparent interest. He probably just reached home, for he still had his shoulder holster strapped on. Matt's glance flickered to it and John began to unbuckle it quickly, inclining his head as an invitation to come on in.

Matt sat in the old sofa as John puttered around, locking up his guns before going to get a cold soda for Matt, settling with a low sigh beside him with his own bottle. This was probably a bad idea, Matt reflected, and felt his face flush at the explicit fantasies he'd had on the way over; John was obviously exhausted and maybe a little pissed at some perp from earlier. Right now, he was probably just about ready to unwind and get some rest, and then Matt had _had_ to come over with his little horny self, all ready to get skewered by John's cock.

He sipped his drink morosely and stole a glance at John; he was right. John's eyes were half-lidded, head resting against the back of the seat. Matt drank again and sighed.

After a long, monotonous hour, he found himself tucked into John's side as the night began to deepen, falling into a light sleep. He was only vaguely aware of being gently urged to his feet at one point, stumbling in an unknown direction. He was being pushed onto a bed, his shirt and jeans removed as he clumsily tried to help.

"I'm staying here tonight?" he asked thickly, but he was already hugging a pillow and curling around it. It smelled like John, and he hummed happily. Someone answered him but Matt dozed quickly, a little drunk on the feel of John's body pressed against his back.

*

He woke up again to discover that John had stolen all the sheets, and apparently he retaliated by flinging his arms and legs wide, like a large human starfish. John was very still on one side of the bed, but as soon as Matt began to withdraw his invading limbs, he opened his eyes and frowned blearily.

"What," John croaked and Matt shook his head.

"Bathroom," he whispered back and slid out to pad across the darkened room. As he took a leak, he marveled at how easy that was. He'd been sleeping in John's bed. _With_ John. He grinned as he shook off and washed his hands. No pressure at all.

As he slid back into bed, tugging some of the covers as sneakily as possible, John reached out, pulling him close. They lay there comfortably for a few moments, facing each other on their sides and Matt tried to get back to sleep, but he felt tense and aware; he could hear John breathing, but it wasn't the even rhythm of slumber. One of John's hands was resting quite possessively on his hip, and now his fingers began to move, rubbing the material of Matt's boxers in a considering manner before plucking at the waistband. Matt was getting hard just at that seemingly simple act.

He reached down very slowly and took John's hand, feeling the strength in it, the scarred knuckles and the rough palm. Then he laced their fingers together, and kissed the side of John's hand carefully.

"Please," he murmured, emboldened by the dark. He kissed John's hand again and John's fingers twitched against his lips. "Please, I really, _really_ want you to. McClane, I _practiced_."

John made a soft sound and his mouth was pressed against Matt's within a moment. Matt parted his lips, trying to struggle out of his boxers and keep kissing him at the same time. Finally, he was fully nude and wrapped his hands around John's neck, feeling those dangerous fingers card gently through his hair. He snuggled even closer, wanting to feel more of John's skin against his. As he flattened his hands against John's shoulders, John pulled back a little and reached across him, pulling open the single drawer of the nightstand.

"Let's see how much you practiced," he rasped, pressing a plastic bottle into Matt's hand. Matt grappled with the cover and as John nuzzled at his neck, he moaned and squeezed out a little too much lube onto his fingers. John scooped up some of it with two fingers, holding them carefully as he traced the free ones down Matt's stomach, teasing around his prick and tickling his balls. Matt parted his thighs, groaning as John rubbed gently and then breached him with his fingers, going slow and opening him up with long, confident strokes.

Matt's hands were slick and they kept slipping over John's skin; whenever he moved, he could feel John's dick trailing wetly against his thigh, and he wanted it so bad, he could _taste_ it. Speaking of taste, they were really going about this the wrong way, Matt thought through a haze of pleasure. He was sure that some dick-sucking should have occurred before now; then John curled his fingers just the right way and Matt's mind actually kind of shut down and he decided that dick-sucking would soon figure in the equation, but _not right now_.

John pulled out his fingers and Matt was just about to roll onto his back, or maybe go on his hands and knees, but he was being hauled up and over John, blinking. He found himself straddling John's hips, just barely making out the slight curve of John's smile. He could feel that hard cock pressing against the curve of his ass.

He stared down at John, who said nothing, just rubbed his thumbs in the dips of Matt's hips. He took a deep breath, leaning forward. John went up on his elbows, presumably to meet him halfway, but Matt reached back and grasped onto his dick with slick fingers. He sat up a bit, positioned John's cock as best as he could, and then sank onto it slowly.

Oh, it felt different from his dildo; his cock was hot and silky and Matt moaned at the feel of it, at the burn and the stretch as the head of it passed the ring of muscle. John's fingers were now digging into his skin, trying to lift him off when Matt hissed at the pain, but Matt persisted. He breathed out and stopped now and again, getting used to that sensation of fullness, working his way down at his own pace.

"I did it," he breathed triumphantly as his ass settled against John's crotch.

"You did it," John confirmed in a strained voice and pressed up a little. Matt wriggled in response and lifted slowly up and down; at this rate, his thighs would hate him in the morning. "Ah fuck," John moaned. "That's it, Matt," he encouraged as Matt moved above him; Matt thought that he could live with the hateful thighs tomorrow. He braced one of his hands on John's shoulders, slipping once or twice as he rocked back and forth; the other hand, he wrapped firmly around his own cock. Matt actually flinched when John's cock dragged against his prostate and John was fucking up into him, finding it again. He didn't hit it every time and Matt didn't need him to; it was almost too much.

He couldn't concentrate. John slid his fingers over Matt's dick as well, rubbing over the swollen head with his thumb and Matt's orgasm caught him so completely off-guard that he flailed and bucked, nearly falling off the bed and breaking them both.

John was holding him tightly as he shook, Matt's come striping onto the planes of his stomach. Matt tried to garble out an apology, but he was spinning again, now on his back with John thrusting deeply into him. His cock felt oversensitive and he moaned weakly, biting his lip when John went rigid, mouth open, and a wet heat spurted inside Matt.

"Ow," Matt groaned when John's softened dick slipped out of his hole. It felt so fucking strange. "Oh man."

"Fuck, my _back_." John gingerly rolled from atop him, and Matt couldn't help it: he actually _giggled_, the sound slightly shrill. John glared at him half-heartedly, using someone's boxers in an attempt at clean-up, before giving up and gathering Matt close. They were still sweaty; the whole room smelled of sex, and Matt probably needed some more practice at this whole thing, especially the part where he didn't try to kill either of them while coming. That would be great.

"Practice makes perfect," he muttered against John's throat and smiled against it when John hummed in agreement.

_fin_

**Author's Note:**

> Written for both [](http://www.livejournal.com/users/maja_li/profile)[**maja_li**](http://www.livejournal.com/users/maja_li/) &amp; [](http://www.livejournal.com/users/vampyreranger/profile)[**vampyreranger**](http://www.livejournal.com/users/vampyreranger/) for their Porn-for-Valentine's gift. I had been pondering Maja's prompt, and then Rachel requested _Matt riding John_, so I guess it worked out. Hopefully!


End file.
